


Step To It

by scy



Category: Supernatural/Torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:19:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scy/pseuds/scy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two guys meet while working a case, the details are what matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Step To It

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lattara, who hurt her arm and wanted 'Dean/Jack porn.' She gave me several scenarios that she'd been considering and we chatted a bit before she couldn't type anymore. Then I went off and wrote this. When Lattara asks me to write such intriguing pairings, i have to wonder who's getting the better end of the deal. :) anyhow, this was a lot of fun to write and it's obviously wrapped up in such a way that should i happen across another scenario that i like, these two could meet up again, or continue their little adventures. Lattara, this is for you.

Dean was wrapping up a job in Mason City when his dad called with the details of another case.

"Something's been killing people in Ely, Nevada," John said, the phone's connection wavering.

"Any idea what?" Dean asked.

"Haven't seen the photos yet; I've been busy, and you're closer."

"You going to head out or you want me to take care of it?" He'd been doing jobs on his own for a couple years and liked the independence, the responsibility of being able to handle himself, but he and his father still met up when they were dealing with tougher monsters.

"This one's a solo hunt, Dean. You call when you've taken care of it," John said.

"Yes, sir," Dean said and waited until he heard the line click before he hung up.

Dean dropped his cell into his pocket and looked at the grave burning in front of him. He'd wait to make sure everything inside was torched and then he'd head out, stop at a library and find out what he could about strange deaths in Nevada.

*  
Morgues were relatively simple to get access to, if one carried the proper identification, and since Dean had a close approximation, he didn't expect trouble. Finding another person carrying a badge qualified, though, and when the desk clerk stared at his credentials in confusion, Dean could tell there was a glitch somewhere.

"Yes?" he asked, tone assured and warning that delays would annoy him and bring all manner of crap down on the head of the guy who'd gotten in his way.

"There's nothing wrong, Marshall Stewart, I guess they're really bringing in the big guns on this one."

Dean looked at the guy as though he was asking too many questions. "Let's not wait around, then."

"Yes, sir." He led Dean into the morgue, proper, where a man was standing by an examination table. It seemed like he was examining the body, but he wasn't wearing a uniform or lab coat, so Dean cleared his throat to get his attention.

"U.S. Marshals, what are you doing?"

The man straightened up, but didn't remove his hand from inside the body as he smiled.

"I've been asked to handle this case." When Dean kept up an unimpressed front, he added, "I'm with Torchwood."

"Who?" Dean asked. The name wasn't familiar but it sounded as if it meant a lot when it counted.

Sticking his free hand out, the man continued," Captain Jack Harkness."

"Marshall Stewart," Dean said, shaking the hand offered. This guy was friendlier than any other law enforcement official he'd faced recently, but that attitude was somewhat unconvincing when Dean could tell that Harkness had been performing an autopsy with professional expertise and no sign that it bothered him to be dissecting a body.

In shirtsleeves and suspenders, the man would have fit in at a retro club, but there he was claiming to have the authority to get past red tape to investigate a death that had been officially ruled to be an 'animal attack.' Whoever he was, Dean needed to have a look at the victim and minimize further civilian involvement at the same time.

Dean turned to the clerk and smiled patronizingly. "Thanks for your help, you can go now."  
The remark did what he intended; annoyed, the man frowned but left immediately.

As the door shut behind him, Dean turned back to Captain Harkness of Torchwood. "I've never heard of your agency."

"We're based in England," Harkness said and gave Dean another friendly look. "And the Federal Marshals must be relaxing their hiring policies."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind." Harkness went back to twisting his hand around inside the corpse, and Dean came closer to see what he was doing.

"Are you looking for something?" Dean asked. He had seen all the photographs the morgue had taken when he took an unofficial peek into their files earlier, but up close he was sure that there were claw marks even inside the wounds. To his eyes it looked like something had clawed out of the person, not burrowed in.

"Yes," Harkness said, and grunted as he tugged hard with no apparent success. "Here," he grabbed Dean's hand and shoved it in next to his own. "I've almost got it, but I need leverage. You hang on right there," he moved Dean's fingers to the left, "when I tell you to, pull as hard as you can."

"Mind telling me what it is?" Dean asked. He could feel something with edges against his fingers, and when he got a hold on it, he glanced at Harkness.

"When I get it out, I'll know for certain, now just give me a second."

The object that they removed was shaped like an egg, if too large and weirdly colored to be from any bird or reptile Dean knew of. It wasn't whole; the shell had been broken, again, outwards, and he knew that whatever had been inside had broken free and killed someone to do it.

Dean and Harkness looked at one another and then back down at the egg.

"Well, it's not from a bird," Harkness said, as if waiting for Dean to contradict him.

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean said.

Harkness turned it this way and that. "Not a local one, to be technical about it."

"What do you mean, not local, what other kind of birds are there?"

"The kind that migrate very long distances."

"I've seen geese," Dean said, getting a little pissed that this guy didn't feel like he should say what he was thinking. "This isn't a goose egg, and it's way too big to be from anything I've even heard of." He'd thought it could have been from a gryphon, but their young didn't gestate and then kill their parents, and dragons didn't nest in the lowlands or even venture west anymore.

"Nothing you've heard of?" Harkness repeated like that was important.

"That's what I said," Dean confirmed.

"You weren't expecting this, but you're not surprised," Harkness said.

"Neither were you," Dean said.

"I don't usually share an investigation."

"Back at you."

"But, since you're already here, and you don't look like you're going to run to the newspapers or have a nervous breakdown, I wouldn't refuse the assistance," Harkness said.

"You know what this thing is?" Dean asked.

"Yes, I've dealt with them before."

"So you know how to kill it."

"Yes," Harkness said, and Dean could tell that he wasn't lying, not about what he knew.

Dean had been on the road long enough to know that he could handle nearly everything on his own. It was just easier and smarter to have a partner in case the unexpected decided to show up. If he didn't have help he trusted, he'd take what he could get and keep an eye on them out of basic common sense. After he took a couple moments to consider the situation and estimate how much trouble Harkness could be if he wanted to be, Dean conceded that it was better than working without having a clue of what he was hunting. "Okay, we can work this one together," he said.

"Glad to hear it," Harkness said.

"Do you need to do anything else to the body?" Dean asked.

"No, the coroner has already decided that there's a particularly vicious animal on the loose and the public is more comfortable with that danger than they would be with the truth," Harkness said. He covered the body back up and headed over to the sink to wash his hands. When he was done, Dean took his turn. After he'd finished, Harkness took a small metal object out of his pocket and ran it over every surface in the room.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"Ensuring that our presence isn't recorded. I'm betting that you'd rather not be questioned by anyone about this," Harkness said, his eyes taking in Dean's appearance and making a few educated guesses.

Dean didn't deny the truth, but he didn't admit anything either.

"All done," Harkness said. "Now, if I know this thing, and I do, it's going to have to go hunting for food right away. The offspring are very hungry after they hatch."

"How do you track them?" Dean asked, because why not learn couple new things while on this little trip.

"They leave a trail," Harkness said. "You can find them easily, if you know what you're doing."

"I pay attention," Dean said.

"I hope so," Harkness said and grinned.

As Harkness smiled and gestured, Dean could tell that he was trying to put Dean at ease but was also being himself whoever that was. Dean knew a good line and had no qualms about using them even when he wasn't hunting, but his aim was never to make himself fit in for longer than he needed to. He was aware of what he'd been raised to do, and so far the only people able to handle that had been family. Even then, he'd had to play games of pretend when Sam felt like he wasn't at all a part of it. This guy, who said he was from England, even though he talked like an American, was sharing a lot more openly than Dean had guessed he'd be willing to, but the whole story was being held back.

Harkness held up his wrist as if he was looking at a watch, but if that was a timepiece then it was a prototype that Dean would be had been stolen out from under its inventor's nose. He made a couple adjustments to a dial and began walking toward the back door.

"What would it go after?" Dean asked. He didn't bother talking around how Harkness knew he was on a hunt too; speaking plainly would get them further and he didn't want any giant freaky bird-things to be eating people while he debated jurisdiction while Harkness gave him the once-over for the fourth time.

"These things aren't picky," Harkness said, walking in stride with Dean, not trying to get ahead but motioning when his monster detecting equipment gave him directions.

"Anybody that's got a hankering for a pint of ice cream at midnight, then," Dean said.

"Yes, but the good news is that it will be looking for a place to roost with its kill afterwards."

"Places with trees, got it." Dean thought back to the street signs he'd read when he drove into town earlier that day. "There's a park a few blocks over. Not much to look at, but it's got some trees, pretty big ones too, they could hold a large bird."

"That's it, then," Harkness said and Dean headed in that direction.

"What do they look like?" Dean asked, rolling his shoulders to loosen up and knowing that Harkness had seen the movement, watched it, and was aware of the way their jackets brushed against each other as they walked. He still managed to stay on topic through it, which made Dean less inclined to smirk about being stared at, even if he kept it in the back of his mind.

"A really unattractive cross between their equivalent of a pigeon and a dog," Harkness said.

"You're kidding," Dean said.

"I wish I was; they were bred to carry messages and guard them if need be."

"Bred by who?"

"A group of people who didn't care what they looked like if they could do the job."

"Not here," Dean said.

"On Earth? No."

Dean nodded, and hid the flinch. Aliens, all right, that was screwed up, and nobody here was going to admit to being off their meds, so onto the next piece of business. "Are you one of them?"

"No," Harkness said.

"How do you know about them?"

"The same way you were looking into that man's unusual death, it's my job."

"To look for alien carrier pigeons?" Dean asked.

"And anything else dangerous that doesn't belong on Earth," Harkness said.

"You're like the border patrol, only for the whole planet," Dean said. They'd reached the park and Dean scanned the tree line, looking for movement or strange shapes, blinking off the faint glow of the streetlamps as he adjusted to the darkness.

Harkness laughed softly. "If you like."

"I don't really go for authority figures," Dean said. He didn't have to take his eyes off the trees to talk this out.

"As a habit, or a rule?" Harkness asked. He was standing next to Dean and doing the same thing, his body warm and still at his shoulder.

"Personal choice," Dean said. It hadn't been an issue, really. He had enough skills to get himself out of most cells and cuffs, and if it came down to it, he used his looks to a point, and then he kicked out, hard. "I get by."

"I wasn't suggesting you had any trouble at it," Harkness said.

"How about you?" Dean asked. "You have a thing for cops?"

"I used to be someone of that sort," Harkness said. "It wasn't to indulge a fetish, my job was to enforce the law."

"But you're not doing that anymore," Dean said.

"I chose to leave their employment."

"You quit."

"Over irreconcilable differences," Harkness said. He spoke evenly, but Dean recognized that his voice was deliberately smooth over emotion.

"No chance of you and them making up?" Dean asked.

"Too late on their part, and I didn't wait around for them to realize as much."

"Do you hit on everyone you work with, or are you just bored waiting around for this thing to flap its wings?"

"I've been told I'm a friendly sort," Harkness said.

"That's a yes," Dean said. He craned his head as a branch shifted more than it should, and then it hunched over, so it wasn't a branch. "There," he said, and leaned in to point the thing out to Harkness.

"Good eye," Harkness said. "That's it." He listened silently and then nodded. "I don't hear bones breaking, it hasn't had a chance to kill yet."

"Let's not give it the time," Dean said.

"Are you armed?" Harkness asked, drawing an old fashioned pistol from a shoulder holster.

Dean drew his own gun and didn't glance at Harkness as he flicked the safety off.

"We're ready," Harkness said. "Aim for the stomach, that's where their hearts are, and try not to hit their wings, that just makes them charge, and they're fast even with their small legs."

"More pit bull than dachshund," Dean said.

"Yes." Harkness gestured to the right, and Dean knew the command. He and Harkness slipped away from each other, coming in on the tree wide then tight, moving quickly and softly. Whatever he'd been, the man had military training and they shadowed one another to their target in seconds.

Harkness held up his index finger, one, then two, and on three, Dean stepped back slightly, behind the tree, and fired into the shape perched above.

It let out a squawk and then growled as it dove toward Harkness. He rolled out of the way as it hit the ground, the force of its body leaving a furrow in the soil, and Dean came around the other side, circling it counter to Harkness. It was down, but Dean could hear growling and he knew stepping closer would get him a bad bite and whatever the alien version of rabies was. It lunged at him and then at Harkness and they each jumped out of the way, covering for the other and distracting it with noise.

When they'd gotten it backed up against a wall that stood between the parking lot and the actual park, Harkness gave the signal to fire. As they put their guns up, they both moved in to check to see if it was breathing, even though they knew it was dead.

In all it had taken maybe three minutes, counting their dodging and shooting and Dean was feeling that rush of adrenaline that went with winning another small battle.

"That could have gone badly," Harkness said.

"Yeah," Dean said. The thing might have been small, but when he shone his flashlight over it, to see what they'd brought down, he saw large teeth and claws along with the wings. The creature was almost comically mismatched, its traits were so opposed, but they worked, he'd seen it, and whoever had designed it had to have a massive operation and a lot of funding. "Will fire destroy it?"

"Very well," Harkness said.

"Cool." Dean never went anywhere without matches, and Harkness had a vial of something that glowed when he held it up to the lit flame.

"Regular accelerants won't work on these creatures," Harkness said.

"You know what will get the job done, though," Dean said, knowing what he was suggesting, wanting to know what Harkness would say and do.

"So do you," Harkness said.

"It's what I do."

"And from what I've seen, you do it well," Harkness said, suddenly a lot nearer, his voice low and intimate as he leaned in, poured the liquid on the monster and stepped back enough for Dean to drop a match on it.

Dean smirked as they stepped away from the fire in unison, waiting for it to be consumed by the flames, but out of the way and preparing to head out. "You're not low-key about noticing."

"I wasn't trying to be," Harkness said.

"Uh huh."

The fire had settled down, the shape reduced to ash, nothing that would catch anyone's attention and cause a panic. Everything was taken care of, and it was a shame that more jobs didn't wind up as neatly as this one. Dean didn't do what they were dancing around with many hunters. There were a few that he'd met who weren't his dad's friends or so worn down that they didn't have time for letting anyone in, but that was rare, and so he waited to see what the other man was going to do and he'd respond to that.

"At the risk of disappointing with a cliché, I'd suggest we get out of here," Harkness said.

Dean could handle the old favorites of these situations. "You want to find someplace more comfortable?"

"That would be good," Harkness said.

They'd gotten to the park on foot, and Dean's room at the local motel wasn't far away, so he suggested they go there. Jack shared a few jokes about the cheap American overnight rooms, and Dean defended his country good-naturedly.

"I guess you've been in worse," Dean said, and Harkness agreed.

Standing in front of the bed, Dean shrugged out of his coat and dropped it onto a chair.

"You look like you've got a plan," Dean said, because Harkness had that expression on his face that said he was thinking and his thoughts were the good kind of dirty, and also, he was still wearing all his clothes.

"For a start, I'd like to kiss you," Harkness said.

"Hope that's not all," Dean said.

"Just for now," Harkness said, and smirked at Dean.

"Go ahead," Dean said.

It wasn't a dare; Dean could have made the first move but if he did and it wasn't right, then it was on him. To prove he wanted Dean, Harkness would have to take the chance, like they both had when they trusted each other during this job.

Harkness looked at him for longer than it took to come up with a strategy, and Dean goaded, "Having second thoughts, Harkness?"

The man shook his head in amused exasperation. "No, just deciding where I want to mark you."

"Nowhere that's going to show," Dean said, knowing he'd just agreed to more than making out.

"A shame," Harkness said, but didn't let his disappointment hold him back from kissing Dean.

It wasn't an unsure kiss, but Harkness waited for Dean to respond before he made it serious.

"Talk to me," Harkness said, and Dean listened because the man didn't sound totally removed, the request was honest, he wanted to know who he was with.

"What about?" Dean asked. He was trying to shove the wool coat off Harkness' shoulders, and how the guy could wear a thing like that in this climate, even with the sun down, Dean wasn't sure.

"Yourself," Harkness said.

"Look, captain," Dean said, "I don't give my biography to anyone I meet."

"Call me Jack," Harkness said. "Everybody does."

"Fine, I tell you something, how will you know I'm telling the truth?"

"I'll know," Harkness said.

"You tell me something too," Dean said. He wasn't going to share anything that would endanger his family, but a little truth sharing wasn't a bad game to play while someone was unbuttoning his pants.

"I like fast cars," Dean said.

"I gathered as much," Harkness said and laughed into Dean's mouth. "I [prefer ships."

"Like boats?"

"No, the sort that fly."

"You mean-" Dean pointed upward and made a back and forth motion with his hand.

"Yes," Harkness said, and waited to see how Dean took it.

"Okay," Dean said. "I don't like flying."

"Airplanes are an abysmal precursor to spaceships, I promise."

"But am I going to see them in my lifetime?" Dean asked.

"I'd bet on it," Harkness said. "Your turn."

"Oh, yeah." Dean was quiet as he thought of another basic fact that wouldn't reveal too much.

"I don't want your secrets, Stewart," Harkness

Dean thought that anyone who liked touching other people as much as Harkness plainly did and who obviously knew this could be miles from the right time for it had secrets he wasn't going to share. He wasn't expecting much from Dean, not even a first name, but he'd enjoy what was given and reciprocate.

"I hunt monsters," Dean said, and he didn't tell people that unless they were fighting off some evil s.o.b. and he had to know if he had help or a liability beside him.

"The same," Harkness said. "Only, in my line of work, they're aliens."

"You're saying you're special," Dean said, teasing.

"Oh so very special," Harkness said and snorted, but there was a wince somewhere in his eyes and Dean didn't want him to feel it right now. He'd gotten the other man's coat off and tossed it away somewhere so when Dean tugged on Harkness' shirt buttons and slid it down his shoulders and off, Dean put his hands under the white t-shirt, palms to skin and met blue eyes.

He acted like he loved life even when there were hints that Jack was tired of certain parts of it. Dean knew the feeling, but he plowed through to the things he wanted and tried to put that to Jack in simple terms.

"Jack," Dean said, and kissed him. He made it playful, but with an edge of teeth admonishing him. _This is what you've got, enjoy the good things while you can_, and Jack adjusted.

Dean got on top of Jack with some mostly casual wrestling; he could tell that they might have a serious match if one of them meant to get the other in a real hold, but Jack threw his head back and laughed. As Dean pulled Jack's pants open and down, he dragged his palm down Jack's cock and then Jack decided he wanted a turn.

Somehow Dean found himself quickly losing his clothes, and when Jack used his hands and mouth in tandem, Dean didn't much care what happened to them.

"That's it, Stewart," Jack said, prompting, and as Dean arched back, he shook his head.

"Dean," he said, letting go of another secret for Jack.

Jack smiled like that was better than the moan Dean couldn't suppress and moved himself lower. When he put his mouth on Dean's cock, Dean thought fleetingly that he needed to remember how hot gradual disclosure was, and then he gasped.

Somehow Jack did things with his lips and tongue that felt as good and surprising as his hands and mouth had a couple minutes ago, and suddenly they were better and Dean couldn't keep track.

On his back, breathing unevenly, Dean's senses reminded him of his surroundings, that he was naked and vulnerable with a man he didn't know enough about. He should have kept on his guard, that would have been the smartest way to handle this encounter, but he hadn't, and he wouldn't regret it unless he had to. He'd much rather roll over and see how loudly Jack moaned when Dean touched him.

He didn't restrain himself; Dean made Jack lack back and take everything he'd give, until Jack was tossing his head on the pillows and sweat stood out on his body.

Before this, Dean hadn't thought seriously about other men looking good like this, and he thought that Jack was the cause of a lot of exceptions. He didn't know what Jack wanted, but Dean tried what he liked, watched Jack bite his lower lip and learned quickly.

"Come on," he said, and heard Jack's breathing catch slightly.

Jack was less uncertain in the aftermath; one hand lifted to wipe at his face and he didn't seem to be in any hurry to jump off the bed and go on his way. As the other man recovered, Dean went into the bathroom, wet down a washcloth and cleaned himself up. He brought another with him and handed it to Jack.

"Thanks," Jack said and eyed Dean appreciatively. "About this monster hunting, do you get time off?"

"Sometimes, it depends," Dean said.

"You want to check into another matter with me?" Jack asked.

"So when you say 'time off,' you really mean 'contracting out to you," Dean said, and grinned.

"I'm sure we can find an arrangement that's agreeable."

"Yeah, I think we could." Dean tilted his head to look speculatively at Jack. "Who's gonna be on top, though?"

"I'm open to negotiation," Jack said, and smiled again. "And after that, I'll show you my spaceship."


End file.
